


Under no illusion

by crayyyonn



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode S1E10: Remix, Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:35:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: What happened when Rio and Dean were waiting for Beth to come home.





	Under no illusion

**Author's Note:**

> i just finished the show and am OBSESSED with this pairing (and manny montana nghhh) please excuse me while i work it out of my system

He’s not about to deny it—he’s just a hair on the edge about Elizabeth coming home.

Not anxious or nervous, or even uneasy, never that. A king is never any of that. It’s not anger either, he’d punched it out of his system on Car Man, tamed it with the satisfying crash the cabinet filled with chinaware made when it fell. The duller thump of the ottoman being kicked over was no less gratifying too.

He’s still jittery though, leftover from the few days he had to wait in the clinker while his boys got him out, cooped up and caged. It was some of the worst days of his life. No one tried anything, barely looked at him, even, keeping a wide berth. It was annoying, and as a result had him spoiling for a fight when he got out. He’ll give it to Car Man, he makes a sweet punching bag. He’s got fight in him, too, he recalls, feeling himself start to smile. His cheek is still throbbing. Not bad for a car salesman.

He feels Car Man stir, and turns to watch as he slowly gets his bearings. Then the struggling starts, but he knows it’s futile, knows the exact moment the same knowledge dawns in Car Man’s—he’s got to stop calling him that, it’s dumb as far as names go—eyes. The cursing is muffled by the sock stuffed in his mouth, but the sentiment is clear anyway. He clicks his tongue.

“Deano, my man, that’s no way to greet a friend.” The dining chair twitches with the violent movements. “You kiss your wife with that mouth?”

The struggling stops, then restarts with a vengeance. He’s a little impressed, actually, by the way Dean’s glare is equally fearful and murderous. He’s not the rat coward he assumed him to be. Packs quite the punch too. His eye still stings. It makes a little more sense now why Elizabeth had picked him.

Thinking about her sends a surge of—he’ll categorize it as annoyance, for now—through him, and just like that, his semi-pleasant mood from before vanishes. He can’t believe that broad actually tipped off the Feds. Well, he can, obviously because she did, successfully. Plus he knows she’s got both the smarts and the guts to do it. But he can’t believe she _actually did it_ , but still lives with this dumb son of a bitch.

Mouth curling in distaste, he cracks his knuckles, taking pleasure in the way it makes Dean flinch.

“My bad. She isn’t letting you kiss her these days huh?”

More cursing and struggling. It’s getting boring. Where _is_ that woman? She was due home a while ago. If she were his he’d be ripping her a new one for leaving his kids with a dirtbag for so long.

“So tell me, why the scrawny side piece? I mean, sure she’s younger, but that’s all she has going for her.”

He picks up the picture frame on the floor. The glass is broken but the photo inside is unharmed, Elizabeth, surrounded by her children, smile wide and glowing despite the graininess and the dim light, red hair a halo around her head. She looks good. Pure. He sets the picture back on the floor, more carefully than he’ll admit, then turns to scrutinize her husband. He regrets not breaking both his legs when he could. 

“You dumb son of a bitch. Good thing she sees you for what you are.”

He’s a little surprised when Dean doesn’t seem to disagree. It’s why he tugs the sock out when he sees him struggling to spit it out. He can afford to be benevolent. And patient. He waits for the coughing fit to pass.

Although he regrets it slightly when he hears what Dean has to say.

“She sees you for what you are too,” he rasps. He doesn’t go as far as to spit at him, but it’s close.

“I know.”

The front door snaps closed, followed by the click of heels on wooden flooring. He feels himself relaxing, the tension that had been driving him mad earlier bleeding out slowly.

“Hey honey,” he calls out.

There’s a renewed flash of fear in Dean’s eyes. He grins, cold.

“Welcome home.”


End file.
